Screenplay

Cinematography

Based on a non-fiction account by one of its subjects,
real-life journalist Michael Finkel, the movie “True Story” spends much of its
90 minutes trying to figure out just what it is. Murder mystery, journalism
exposé, courtroom drama, metaphysical inquiry into the secret-sharer nature of
certain American Bros, proof that James Franco and Jonah Hill can serious-act
opposite one another—it seems to be going for any one of these at any given
moment, and in the end winds up being not a whole lot more than ostentatiously
unpleasant and ugly.

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Directed by first-time feature filmmaker albeit apparently
well-acclaimed British stage director Rupert Goold, “True Story” opens with a
slow-motion overhead shot of a teddy bear drooping into an open suitcase and
landing next to a child who’s lying in the suitcase in a fetal position. The
child turns out to be one of the alleged victims of Christian Longo (Franco)
who is soon arrested for killing his entire family—a wife and three kids. Cut to
Hill’s Finkel, in Africa at work on a major story—perhaps his eighth or ninth New York Times Magazine cover gig, he crows to his wife once he’s back in the
States—and he’s getting some of the detail work wrong, in a way that’s going to
bite him in the ass, big time. Exiled from the Times in disgrace, he retreats
to his VERY cozy modern cabin in wintry Montana and Very Concerned But Fairly
Understanding Academic Wife Jill (Felicity Jones), where he soon hears from an
Oregon reporter about a multiple murderer who had been using Finkel’s identity
at the time of his capture in Mexico. That would be Longo. Intrigued, Finkel
requests an interview with the accused. The accused accepts. He’s a long-time
admirer of Finkel’s work, it turns out. He makes Finkel an offer that any
seasoned journalist would admit stinks to high heaven while at the same time
presenting an undeniably potent temptation: If Finkel will keep the story to
himself until after the trial, and “teach” Longo how to write, Longo will give
his story exclusively to the writer whose identity he once pilfered.

It’s kind of amusing that in a week in which much of the
media-engaged real world is howling in outrage that an instance of journalistic
malfeasance at Rolling Stone hasn’t resulted in a bunch of rolling heads, a
movie comes out that tries to make viewers feel bad about the entirely
justified firing of a newspaper reporter who really did do the stuff he was
accused by his bosses of doing. Man, King Crimson wasn’t kidding about that 21st-Century-Schizoid-Man
condition. In any event, as per the movie’s version of events, Finkel’s eager
acceptance of Longo’s offer makes him look like an opportunist, and then the
movie goes on to make him look like a dumb opportunist. Marveling at the
macabre memoir Longo sends him on legal pad, Finkel is spooked by
correspondences: Longo makes weird drawings in the margins of his pages, just like
Finkel does. Jill raises an eyebrow at this, as one will, but the theme of
Human Duality And Darkness doesn’t get much play. The screenplay, by Rupert
Goold and David Kajganich, means to plant verbal clues here and there that will
pay off big time by the end; suffice it to say that to use the phrase “when the
penny drops” to describe the resultant instances would be to severely overvalue
them. (Also, the writers seem to have a poor grasp of what a “double negative”
actually is.)

The film moves at a relatively clipping pace, but also has a
weird sense of contingency, as if the filmmakers are filling in the required
components of this kind of scenario as they go along. For instance, about an
hour into the movie, when all you’ve seen of Longo is in exchanges between him
and Finkel, who’s trying desperately to milk a book deal out of his
investigation of Longo, you’re liable to think, “Doesn’t this accused killer
have a LAWYER? And if so—because he probably should—why hasn’t Finkel had any
contact with him?” And sure enough, the trial gets underway and yes, Longo DOES
have a lawyer. Strangely enough, it’s about this time in the film that an
official investigator, played by bullet-headed, active-jawed toughie Robert
John Burke, leans on doughy, confused-looking Finkel—better tell what you know,
kid, because this Longo’s trying to pull a fast one on the jury. This might
elicit an uh-oh from viewers had the film presented any evidence that Longo
might not be guilty, except it doesn’t. Finkel thinks he might be innocent,
because otherwise all that secret sharer stuff might mean something scary. But
really, he’s the only one. By the time Longo takes the stand to offer a story
so preposterous on its face (not to mention probably actuarially
unprecedented—I thought of Edward G. Robinson’s hole-punching insurance
investigator in “Double Indemnity” and the fun he’d have with this tale, and
also how much I would have preferred to be watching “Double Indemnity”) that
you’re surprised the jurors don’t break up laughing at it—well, you have to
wonder, if this Finkel had almost eight New York Times Magazine cover stories
to his name, how hard can big-time journalism really be?

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Given that both Hill and Franco conduct themselves
reasonably respectably—I have to give Franco credit for not going full
boogity-boogity Evil Dude with this character, which had to have been a
temptation—the blame for this mess needs to be laid at the feet of the
filmmakers. If this mess is what they ended up with after erring with the best
intentions, I feel bad for them. If this is actually the end result they were
going for, I’d be inclined to use the legal system myself, to file an
injunction against them ever getting near a soundstage again.

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